


Premeditation

by pringlesaremydivision



Category: The Strokes
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-11-30
Updated: 2003-11-30
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:21:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pringlesaremydivision/pseuds/pringlesaremydivision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein there is snow, and a lack of things left up to chance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Premeditation

**Author's Note:**

> Just moving some stuff over from Livejournal.

"I'm freezing, man," Fab whispers to Nikolai, who is striding slow and steady next to him, face tilted up toward the sky. In the amber glow of the street lamps the hollows of Nikolai's cheekbones look dark and deep, and Fab has to clench his fists (snug deep in his pockets but still not warm enough) to keep from tracing over them. When Nikolai turns, a swatch of hair falls over one eye and instead of pushing it away he simply peers out from beneath it.  
  
"Want to go in?" he asks, in the same tone of voice, the same quiet hush that's fallen over the street, the neighborhood, the whole city. The snow had fallen rapidly earlier, burying fire hydrants and making pristine white sculptures of cars and bushes in a matter of hours, and now it's starting to fall again, muffling sounds, putting them in a bubble.  
  
Fab shakes his head, dislodging some of the snow that's fallen there, sending it tumbling down to his shoulders in a tiny cascade. "It's nice." He pauses, considers the word choice, then rephrases. "Not the cold. I mean. It's just it was so hectic in there, and I can't - you know?" He shakes his head again and kicks at a clump of ice. "Fuck. I don't know."  
  
"Yeah," Nikolai says, and nods, and somehow that's enough, somehow that's more than enough.  
  
There's a long pause, punctuated occasionally by the sound of bare hands rubbing together, of breaths being drawn in sharply and let out again. "How are things with you," Fab says after the silence bears down too hard, "you and," he casts around wildly, searching his brain for a name he's sure he knows, "Caitlin?"  
  
He doesn't know why he's asking, really, because he doesn't want to know. Doesn't want to hear how happy they are, how Caitlin's just bought him some new album or some old jacket or something else that probably made Nikolai's face light up like fucking Christmas morning when he got it. Doesn't want to know that she likes her eggs fried and her bacon extra-crispy in the morning. Doesn't want to know.  
  
"We broke up," Nikolai mutters, and Fab stops dead in his tracks.  
  
"You -" he blinks hard, working the words over in his mind.  
  
"Broke up, yeah," Nikolai says, and stops too, when he realizes that Fab's not going anywhere at the moment. "She wasn't. It just wasn't working." He looks at Fab with a slightly incredulous smile. "Among several other things, she didn't like the Beatles."  
  
"Sacrelidge," Fab answers, and steps a little closer.  
  
"What happened between you and Jules?" Nikolai asks, and one hand emerges from the depths of his leather jacket to tug on an errant curl that's obscuring half of Fab's vision. He shivers, and it's nothing to do with the cold.  
  
"Fucker. Walked in on him having sex with some blonde." He shrugs. "Which, you know. Whatever. It didn't mean anything with us anyway."  
  
Wanted you anyway, Fab wants to say, but doesn't.  
  
Somehow or another they've managed to move so close together that they're breathing each other's air, and Fab can't tell which clouds of vapor belong to whom, but he's not about to complain. Snowflakes cling onto Nikolai's eyelashes and this time Fab doesn't hold back, this time he runs his thumb over them and watches as Nikolai smiles, slow and easy.  
  
"You believe in coincidence?" Nikolai asks, leaning his forehead against Fab's and staring him straight in the eye. Fab's hand is still trapped between them, and with nowhere else to go he cups the side of Nikolai's face, curls his fingers into his hair.  
  
Fab laughs a little, partly because he's caught off-guard, partly because he's a little unsure that any of this is really happening. The wind picks up and swirls the snow around them, but he doesn't care much, doesn't care, actually, at all. "Not really," he says, and when Nikolai leans forward and closes the gap between them he thinks, don't believe in it at all.  
  
"Your lips are cold," Fab breathes when they break apart, and Nikolai smiles self-consciously. "It's okay, though. It's good."  
  
He briefly considers asking Nikolai if _he_ believes in coincidence, but then they're tangled again in a press of mouths and tongues, and Fab decides he doesn't care, decides with a smile that he's pretty sure he knows the answer anyway.


End file.
